That Devil Love

by Lee Wilkinson

  Deadly enchantment… As Maya had found to her cost.

  Recoiling suddenly, she jumped up, and heart racing, cried, ‘I don’t want to make a new start… I’ll never want you and I’ll never come to you.’

  Sloughing off the cloak of weakness, he got to his feet. Standing tall and supremely confident, he told her, ‘Despite that coating of ice, the look of a Snow Queen, I don’t believe any woman who has a mouth like yours can be frigid.

  ‘You’re young and healthy with natural feelings and needs. My terms stated no other man in your life so sooner or later those needs will betray you…’

  Annis clenched her teeth, silently repudiating his words. Knowing how fierce emotional and physical needs, unchecked, unrestrained, had ruined Maya’s life and finally destroyed her, she had learnt well how to control and repress them.

  ‘Then you’ll come to me willingly, wanting me as much as I want you.’

  Oh, but she never would! For one mad moment she was tempted to tell him why. To throw the past in his face and watch his discomfort when he realised who she was.

  Only she knew he wouldn’t feel any discomfort. Any shame or guilt. As far as men like him were concerned, women were expendable. There to be used and discarded when they lost their appeal.

  Lifting her head, she looked at him with icy disdain. ‘You’re quite wrong. If you were the only man left alive I wouldn’t be willing.’ Shuddering at the evocative brutality of the word, she said with finality, ‘It would have to be rape.’

  She saw the darkness behind those brilliant eyes, the unshakeable purpose.

  ‘You won’t…?’ Her voice, unconsciously begging for reassurance, was scarcely above a whisper.

  ‘Force won’t be necessary.’ He sounded so sure.

  But recalling that anguished, ‘I don’t know if I can take much more of this,’ for the second time she found herself doubting his self-control.

  Reading her expressive face, he assured her mockingly, ‘I can be patient if I must.’

  She had a disturbing mental picture of a sleek black panther silently watching its prey. Waiting for that prey to weaken. Waiting to pounce.

  Smiling a little crookedly, he added, ‘It will be quite entertaining to see how long you can hold out.’

  Heart thudding, she asked, ‘What if your patience comes to an end and you get tired of waiting?’

  ‘If that should happen I give you my word you’ll be free to go without it affecting your brother in any way.’

  It was as dangerous as living on the slopes of an active volcano, wondering when it might erupt and devastate her precarious existence. But if she could only hold out until he got totally frustrated and sick of waiting…

  Of course she could hold out, she told herself hardily. Though she felt this strong and unwanted physical attraction, she hated him.

  It was that hatred, combined with her repressions and inhibitions, which should protect her, keep her safe.

  Should…

  An alarm bell rang in her mind, warning how only a short time ago she’d come close to being enthralled by him.

  But, having been rocked by that near disaster, there was no way she would let it happen again.

  For Annis, Tristan and Isolde was a marvellous and moving experience, and she returned to the hotel in an ecstatic mood.

  In the living-room a supper trolley was waiting, with a bottle of champagne on ice. Shaking her head at the sandwiches, Annis stood by the window sipping the cool, sparkling wine, while Wagner’s wonderful love music continued to weave its spell in her mind.

  In another world, she scarcely noticed when, more than once, Zan refilled her glass.

  When he said his usual, ‘See you in the morning. Sleep well…’ relaxed, floating a little, she lifted a soft-eyed, dreamy face for his goodnight kiss.

  It started as a light, almost casual touch, but when her lips parted beneath that slight pressure, he immediately deepened the kiss.

  Almost at once coherent thought blurred into mindless sensation. His mouth moving against hers was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

  Her arms went around his neck and she swayed against him, her fingers running into his hair, holding his head.

  His hands began to rove over her slender curves with a kind of passionate tenderness that perfectly echoed what she was feeling.

  If, at that stage, he’d shown any sign of hesitation, or rushed things, or spoken a single word, the mood might have been broken.

  But as though it was the most natural thing in the world, in silence and with consummate skill he made love to her, his kisses and caresses bringing a singing delight that overwhelmed her.

  She shuddered as he found her breasts, cupping and fondling them through the thin silk of her dress, his thumbs gently stroking the sensitive nipples so they sprang into erotic life.

  Was it her heart or his that beat so loudly?

  His voice hoarse, he whispered, ‘I’ve waited for this moment…’ and, strangely, those confident hands trembled.

  When he carried her through to her room and undressed them both, she was lost, clinging to him blindly, mindlessly, wanting only the feel of his body against hers, the ultimate passion and tenderness of his possession.

  The brief, tearing pain she felt at his first strong thrust only served to intensify the ecstasy until, like a phoenix, she burnt up gladly, joyfully, in the flames.

  Long before the ashes had time to cool, held against Zan’s heart she fell deeply asleep.

  She awoke slowly, languorously, opening heavy lids to golden Californian sunshine. Her body warm with satisfaction and contentment, she stretched luxuriously and wriggled her toes.

  But, while her senses revelled, her mind, as though still drugged, lay quiescent.

  Only when Zan strolled into the room wearing a short white towelling robe and clearly fresh from the shower did it stir into horrified realisation of what she’d done.

  Looking fit and virile, his handsome face alight with happiness, he was whistling quietly, melodiously, half under his breath.

  Seeing she was awake, he came over to the bed and, smiling, his green-gold eyes brilliant, he stooped to kiss her. He was cool and fresh, smelling faintly of minty toothpaste and aftershave.

  ‘You even wake up beautiful,’ he observed. Adding softly, ‘If there wasn’t a need to get moving, I’d rejoin you. As it is, the cab I’ve hired to take us to the airport will be here shortly, and our brunch is already waiting.’ He kissed her again, his mouth lingering on hers.

  Neither responding nor resisting, she could have been an ivory statue. Every feeling and emotion seemed to have drained out of her.

  When she continued to lie there without speaking or moving, his tone teasing, he said, ‘Come on, then, lazybones… Or are you just feeling modest?’

  Picking up her dressing-gown, he drew back the bedclothes.

  Galvanised into action by the realisation that she was naked, she snatched at the gown and, pulling it on, fled to the bathroom.

  While mechanically she cleaned her teeth and showered, the full import of what had taken place the previous night began to register in her dazed mind, and she groaned aloud.

  She had told herself she was safeguarded by her hatred, and by the inhibitions caused through knowing how unrestrained passions could ruin her life. But neither hatred nor inhibitions had been strong enough to prevent her surrender.

  Shudder after shudder running through her, she wanted desperately to deny the whole thing, to change what had happened, obliterate it. But it couldn’t be denied, or changed, or obliterated. It was a fact.

  In the first rush of bitterness she tried to blame Zan for everything. But an innate honesty insisted it was her own fault. She had lost her head completely.

  Now she knew exactly how Maya had felt.

  Wanting him, loving him, she was the one who had gone up in flames and started the unstoppable conflagration.

  No! She rejected the thought violently. She couldn’t love a
man like Zan. Her mind must be unhinged even to suggest such a thing.

  Yet, while indifference could stretch endless and empty as no man’s land, it was said that love and hatred, such powerful emotions, had only a very thin dividing line.

  The concept had become hackneyed, a cliché, yet, as most clichés did, it contained a terrible truth. And somehow, while she hadn’t been looking, she had inadvertently stepped over that line.

  Now she had to step back before she was utterly lost…

  ‘Nearly ready to eat?’

  Zan’s tap on the door, his brisk query, made her jump and wake up to the fact that she was still standing in the shower bare and shivering, drops of cold water trickling down her long slim legs.

  Finding her voice, she called, ‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ and was surprised by how normal she sounded.

  When she emerged a short time later, wrapped in a towelling robe, it was to find a young black maid doing her packing.

  Clean undies and a matching cotton skirt and jacket had been laid out on the bed.

  The girl looked up with a smile and, indicating the suit, remarked, ‘Mr Power suggested you might like to travel in this, ma’am, but if you’d prefer something else?’

  Making an effort to return the smile, Annis said, ‘Oh, no, that will do fine, thanks.’

  As soon as she’d dressed and coiled her silvery blonde hair into its usual elegant chignon, she braced herself and, hating the thought of having to face Zan, went through to the living-room.

  Dressed in a lightweight suit, he was lounging in one of the deep armchairs while he flicked through a copy of the San Francisco Herald.

  At her entrance he tossed the paper aside and rose to his feet with that supple cat-like movement she now knew well.

  Showing the courtesy that seemed to come naturally to him, he settled her at the small trolley-table, before taking a seat opposite.

  Careful not to meet his eyes, she helped herself to a flapjack she didn’t want and spread maple syrup over it, while he poured fresh orange juice for them both.

  She could sense a change in his attitude. From being happy, almost exultant, he was now quiet, no longer so sure of her, made cautious by her manner.

  They ate in silence until the maid came in to say everything was packed and, at the same instant, the bell-hops arrived to deal with the baggage.

  While Annis finished her coffee, Zan handed out tips with his usual generosity. A moment later the bustle of activity had ceased and they were alone.

  Judging that he was ready to leave, still avoiding his eyes, she picked up her shoulder-bag and, more than eager to be gone, made for the door.

  She had almost reached it when his fingers closed lightly yet purposefully round her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

  His other hand cupping her chin, he tilted it, making her breath flutter in her throat and her heart stop, then start to beat again with slow, painful thuds.

  Gazing down at her cool, aloof face, the small straight nose, the heavy fan of silk lashes almost brushing her high cheekbones, the lovely curve of her lips, he said quietly, ‘You haven’t once looked at me this morning, and I’d like to know why.’

  Not knowing what to say, she tried to prevaricate. ‘I thought you were in a hurry to get off.’

  ‘Before we go anywhere I want to know what the matter is. Why you’re treating me like some kind of leper.’

  When she remained silent, he said quietly, ‘Look at me, Annis.’

  Reluctantly she obeyed, only her beautiful aquamarine eyes betraying her agitation.

  His clean-cut mouth was grim and a slight frown drew his black brows together. ‘I want an answer. I want to know what’s wrong—why you’re acting like this. Do you think that everything that happened last night was my fault?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was full of anguish. ‘I blame myself.’

  ‘Why are you blaming yourself? We are married…’ He sighed. ‘Surely it can’t be because of Stephen? I know now he’d never been your lover. You were as virginal as that Snow Queen image had suggested.’

  Seeing the faint tinge of colour that stained her cheeks, he said urgently, ‘Did you think that when it came to the point you might be frigid? Did it come as a shock to find you weren’t?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then why are you giving yourself hell for behaving like a warm, passionate woman?’

  When she didn’t answer, he took her upper arms and shook her a little. ‘I don’t want you to have any regrets. It was wonderful. Natural and joyous. And I’m damned if I’ll let you retreat behind those walls of ice again…’

  A polite knock interrupted his words. With a muttered oath he released her, and opened the door to find the manager waiting to wish them a pleasant journey, and escort them down to their cab.

  Annis began to move like a sleepwalker, the expression on her lovely face withdrawn, abstracted. Reaching for her hand, Zan tucked it through his arm and held it there with strong, lean fingers.

  Afterwards she could recall little of their departure. Divorced from reality, blind and deaf to everything going on around her, Zan’s words kept running through her mind… ‘It was wonderful… Natural and joyous…’ and, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary, she found herself reliving the previous night.

  She recalled the potent, masculine scent of his smooth olive skin, the ripple of his chest muscles, the light sprinkling of crisp hair beneath her palms.

  Felt again the exquisite torment of his mouth at her breast, the molten pleasure as her body joyfully accepted his, the spiralling delight, and the final heart-stopping rapture.

  She heard his harsh gasp, a cry that was her name, and felt the weight of his black head on her breast…

  But this time, instead of floating on a warm sea of ecstasy and tenderness, she was grounded on the sharp rocks of anger and bitterness and humiliation, and scourged herself for her stupidity in allowing it to happen.

  How could she have let herself sleep with the man who was responsible for destroying almost everything she’d once held dear?

  So great was her agitation that they had gone through the departure procedure and were ready to board the plane before she managed to find some degree of calm.

  A hand at once masterful and solicitous at her waist, his dark head inclined towards her, Zan escorted her up the steps to the aircraft.

  When they’d been welcomed aboard and shown to their seats, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m sure you’ll like Hawaii.’

  She snatched her hand away, then, becoming aware that the attentive stewardess was hovering, she wiped all traces of hostility from her tone and asked evenly, ‘Which island are we going to?’

  ‘Oahu.’ A gleam in his eye, he added, ‘I thought it would be appropriate. Americans call it the honeymoon island.’

  Knowing he was baiting her, and wanting to hit back, she said with saccharine sweetness, ‘I’m surprised you can spare the time for a honeymoon…a big successful man like you.’

  Showing no sign of being rattled, he answered mildly, ‘A “big successful man like me” learns how to pick the right people for key positions, how to delegate. And Matt will take care of anything out of the ordinary that crops up.’

  When she said nothing, he continued blandly, ‘I haven’t had a break for some time, and I thought a honeymoon in the sun would do you good after your recent illness…’

  She swallowed the bitterness rising like bile in her throat. If he imagined that having once slept with him she would happily continue to do so, he had a surprise coming, not to say a shock, when he discovered that the ‘honeymoon’ was already over.

  Once again she struggled to keep her voice level as she queried, ‘Where exactly are we staying?’

  ‘Do you know Oahu at all? If you do, it will probably sound a contradiction in terms when I say a secluded little bay just outside Waikiki. It’s called Lani Hameha.’

  Disliking the word ‘secluded’, her voice had sharpened
perceptibly as she admitted, ‘I know very little about Oahu, or Hawaii as a whole, except that it’s America’s only tropical state. Though of course I’ve heard of Waikiki.’

  ‘Then you’ll be aware that it’s the main tourist resort, and next door Honolulu is the state capital and America’s most exotic city…’

  Seeing she wasn’t inclined towards conversation, he said nothing further, and for the remainder of the rather bumpy flight across the Pacific to Honolulu International Airport, they spoke very little.

  When the airport formalities had been completed, proving Zan’s efficiency yet again, a hired Cadillac was waiting for them.

  It was still sunny, and appreciably warmer than it had been in San Francisco, with balmy trade winds replacing the fresh salty breeze.

  By the time they reached Lani Bay the sun had set with all the dramatic suddenness of the tropics. In the deep blue dusk, Waikiki’s two and a half miles of beach-fronted high-rise development glittered like some jewel-encrusted sash.

  But the tiny bay, looking like a travel poster with its sweep of pale sand ringed by feathery palms and the volcanic bulk of Diamond Head black against the evening sky, was deserted.

  Annis felt a shiver of apprehension run down her spine.

  Instead of the quiet hotel she had been expecting, their destination proved to be a white frame-built house. The yellow light spilling from its windows cheered her somewhat.

  It was a split-level construction built on a gentle slope down to the bay and almost hidden from the road by trees and tropical vegetation.

  Zan drew the car to a halt on the paved area behind the top level. ‘Lani House,’ he told her, satisfaction in his tone.

  ‘Is it yours?’ Despite her unease, somehow she kept her voice steady.

  He shook his head. ‘It belongs to Helen and Matt. I arranged with Matt to borrow it.’

  As he helped her from the car, the front door opened and a man and woman emerged. Both were dark-haired islanders, with broad Polynesian-type faces and beaming white smiles.